Cleanliness is Next to Joyfulness

Dear Reader,

I know I’m not the only person to lose count of the number of times I’ve thought, “Ugh, I need to shower, but I really don’t want to.” Let me tell you something: If I lose the ability to shower, I will really, really want to.

It started as a small leak. Tiny. Easily ignored. Then it grew, and then it grew some more. Next thing we knew, the cats were playing Gene Kelly in the bathroom, tap dancing through splashy puddles on the floor. We had to shut off the water. My husband examined the trouble and saw exactly which part had cracked and needed to be replaced.

“It’s an easy fix,” he said.

It would have been, except for one small hiccup. We live in a 1926 house, which is very cool until something goes wrong. Lowe’s and Home Depot don’t carry parts for a hundred-year old clawfoot tub. Even Ace Hardware, our go-to for weird parts, didn’t have what we needed. We had to order the parts. It would take a week to get them.

Did I mention we only have one bathroom? Until the parts came in, there would be no showering.

I started the week optimistically. We still had a sink, after all. I could wash well enough with a washcloth and a basin of water. I had dry shampoo, and I’d put my hair in a bun once it got too greasy. I’d be fine.

(Reader, I was not fine…)

I don’t think I stunk, the sink baths took care of that, but my God did I feel terrible. I never realized how much I depended on a long, hot shower to wash away the stress of life. On top of that, no amount of dry shampoo could stop my scalp from feeling itchy. Before this, I thought I understood the connection between depression and showering, that depressed people don’t want to shower. I never realized the converse was also true. Not showering made me feel depressed.

During that week without showers, I accomplished  next to nothing. I couldn’t find the motivation. One day, I never even changed out of my pajamas. What was the point? I was a cave-dwelling thing, speaking in grunts and spending my time scrolling through endless streams on social media. Look at those real people! I was no longer one of them.

The day the parts arrived, my husband installed them immediately, and I jumped in the shower the moment he gave me the all clear. My God, the bliss! The absolute, unfettered joy! My dirt-induced depression swirled down the drain. Inspiration for three creative projects leaped to the forefront of my mind. I was a real person again! I would live!

I returned to my word processor before my hair was even dry, finally able to write again. But that was yesterday. Excuse me now–I think I need to take another shower.

Love, Melissa